


Too Close to the Sun

by BirdInTheCave



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Mild Language, Old Fic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, There are approximately two fucks, Unsympathetic Dark Sides (Sanders Sides), Winged Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Wingfic, Wings, barely edited
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:00:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26041582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BirdInTheCave/pseuds/BirdInTheCave
Summary: Virgil isn't used to things being... intimate with the others. He's not used to being close to them, to being friendly. He's certainly not used to being cared for. It was much easier to keep his secrets when they didn't care about him, when they brushed him off as the villain and he had to scream and play the bad guy to be heard. Now, however, they're all inching closer and closer and that means they're dangerously close to seeing all of him. That includes the pieces he's intricately hidden away.It starts with Thomas--because who else could it be?--and it all seems to fall apart from there.Maybe it's not so bad.[An old unfinished work from a notebook years ago that I decided to pick back up]
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Thomas Sanders
Comments: 3
Kudos: 80





	Too Close to the Sun

~~You'll never be good enough.~~ ~~~~~~~~

~~You know they hate you, right?~~ ~~~~

~~You're a monster and you hurt everyone, especially Thomas.~~ ~~~~

Virgil visibly shuddered, his wings restrained beneath his shirt and hoodie alike. The feathered appendages twitched, sending coils of fire down his spine. It hurt to keep them so incessantly pressed against his back, too big to contain but forcing himself through the pain of compressing them anyway.

"You okay, Kiddo?" Patton asked from across the room. The both of them were manifested, Virgil lurking in his usual haunt by the steps and Patton neatly sat on the couch next to Thomas. The two eyed him warily, waiting--

~~\--For you to hurt them--~~ ~~~~

\--for him to lie; spit some version of "I'm fine" out through gritted teeth and brush them off.

"Cold," Virgil replies dismissively, tensing to give the illusion that he was trying to keep himself from trembling again. Patton pouted, dissatisfied by the discomfort of someone he held so dear, and sternly patted the cushion left unoccupied between Thomas and himself.

Hesitantly, slow and scared like an abused animal, Virgil crept forward and approached the couch. Patton patted the cushion again, encouraging him to come closer, and nodded eagerly. Thomas smiled kindly, welcoming, obviously able to feel Virgil's doubt and anxiety.

See, being a manifester was funny in it's own weird way. If you were a manifester, like Thomas, the different pieces of your personality had a sort of sentience to them. They were like separate people that made up your whole, and, unsurprisingly, you could manifest them in the real world. Hence the name. When your facets aren't manifested one feels them and their emotions like they're their own because they are, but when the facets are physically manifested one feels them more like a supernatural empath would be able to sense another's emotional state.

~~Yeah, it must be so much fun manifesting~~ _~~you~~ _ ~~.~~ ~~~~

Virgil sat down, grateful that a manifester didn't have a sort of telepathic connection with their facets. He didn't want anyone hearing his thoughts but him but he especially didn't want Thomas listening in.

Sitting did relieve some of the strain on his back, the dead weight of his wings relaxing into the cushions and taking some of the load off his tense shoulders. He relaxed minutely, offering up a soft smile to his companions, "Thanks."

"Of course, Kiddo!" Patton assured, arms moving before he caught himself and lowered his hands back to where they sat in his lap. He clearly wanted to hug him but restrained himself. Virgil wasn't one for surprise attacks, hugs or otherwise. "So, what did you need us for, Thomas?" And that, as they say, was that.

Virgil zoned out of the casual conversation that started up after that, nodding and occasionally humming in acknowledgement to give the illusion that he was paying attention as Thomas spoke. His back _hurt_. Really badly. The cause of the pain itself may be dialed back, but that left room for the pain that was already there to seep into his conscious mind. There was no need to focus on keeping his wings still or his back somewhat straight despite how those efforts pained him, and with those tasks no longer needing his attention the agony they caused came rushing to the forefront. The space between his shoulder blades, where the base of his wings rested, felt as if it was made of fire. Molten lava coursed through his veins, setting his body and the wings attached ablaze. Breathing was a task in and of itself, his lungs felt small and weak. His arms were going numb, pins and needles prickling at his fingertips, sending spikes into his very bones.

And then there was a hand, resting between his shoulder blades. Or rather, trying to. It rests on the mass of his wings, a pressure he hadn't at all been prepared for. The pain flared, his blood was rushing in his ears, and he couldn't hope to mute the strangled yelp that stuttered past his lips.

~~They're attacking you!~~ ~~~~

~~Get out, you idiot!~~ ~~~~

His wings spasmed under his clothes and the agony amplified.

"Virgil! I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were hurt!" Thomas. Thomas wouldn't attack him. Thomas needs him.

~~Just because he needs you doesn't mean he doesn't want to hurt you.~~ ~~~~

"Patton, wait wait, don't touch him--"

Panic spiked in Virgil, a spear through the chest. His lungs failed to function. Don't touch, don't--

"Patton, can you leave? Please? I think you're scaring him."

The feeling of a side sinking out, a presence filtering out and merging back with the host. Falling away into the mindscape.

"Virgil," It was getting hard to breathe-- _harder_ to breathe-- his limbs were trembling, wings frantically twitching under their confines. "Virgil, breathe, okay? I'll count, you just have to breathe. In for four,"

"One," Virgil sucked in a long, trembling breath on instinct alone. He chokes. The voice, Thomas voice, calmly starts over.

"It's okay, c'mon, two," In, in, in, in, in--

~~Out, out, out, out, out~~ ~~~~

"Three," Lungs burning. They're burning. _He's burning_.

"Four," This must be what it feels like to suffocate. Virgil thinks that's a common thought, for him, during an attack like this. The thought never seems to stick after the fit is over. A reoccurring nightmare that's just as horrifying each time it rears its ugly head. His lungs are screaming, begging for air.

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.."

Virgil has to fight not to exhale in one rapid exhale, releasing a long, shuddering breath as calmly as he can manage with the rabbit heartbeat fluttering in his chest. However, the exercise was enough to tame the raging storm in his mind long enough for him to collect his bearings and focus, gathering his wits.

Slowly, he sat up-- when the fuck did he get on the floor?-- and began tapping a steady rhythm into the crook of his arm. He focuses on the pace, wills himself to keep the beat, and once the task helps him settle into himself once again he looks up to meet Thomas' eyes. A gesture to show he was okay.

~~No, you're not.~~ ~~~~

They waited silently as Virgil finished pulling himself together. Finally, when he pushed himself off the floor and positioned himself crossed-legged on the coffee table, Thomas spoke.

"What happened?" He prods, sat directly across from the facet on the couch where he'd stayed amidst the chaos. The concern burned into Thomas' face made Virgil's stomach churn with guilt, he never had the intention of putting that expression there; of making Thomas feel bad.

~~That's all you do.~~ ~~~~

"Hey, wait, you didn't do anything wrong." Thomas assured, raising his hands placatingly. Sometimes he forgot Thomas could sense him, the manifester had never acknowledged how he felt when it hadn't affected Thomas' own emotions directly. Not until they'd embraced him as one of their own, at least. And Virgil, unlike the other facets, never needed to build up a wall to keep Thomas from reading him. It'd never been a problem before. A flash of annoyance and panic rolled through him. "Virge--"

"Let's go back to pretending you don't know how I feel, okay?" He snapped, trying to reel in the hurt at his months-- ~~years~~ \-- as nothing more than a dark side. A nuisance. A monster.

It was obvious Thomas felt the hurt, the open wounds still barely starting to stitch themselves together even months after his initial acceptance into the pack, but he doesn't say anything. Thomas has always tried to respect the wishes of others, even if said someone was just a piece of his own puzzle. Sometimes it made Virgil feel out of place, being respected and treated like a friend. He was still used to being the enemy, living the role of the villain.

~~That's because you don't deserve respect.~~

"So…" Thomas drawled, eyes glinting expectantly. "What happened?"

"I zoned out. Freaked out when someone touched me, not that complicated." Discomfort rolled around in his stomach like a hungry snake, coiling tight as his wings tried to flutter with the nerves that shuddered through him.

"It was more than that." Thomas continued, hesitant but determined. Confident.

~~He wants to know what's wrong so he can make you stop.~~ ~~~~

"You panicked. Like genuine, feral panic. You were _scared_. Like we were trying to hurt you." Virgil's breath hitched and Thomas tensed, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth. "You thought we were going to hurt you." It wasn't a question. Virgil sat silent. "Why?" Thomas looked crestfallen, shattered entirely by the revelation. The tension made its home in his bones and tears were springing up in those amber eyes.

Immediately, Virgil went to sink out. He could get Patton, who could make Thomas feel better.

Something stopped him. Some invisible wall.

"No," Thomas choked, a fire burning in his eyes now. Determination and concern dominated his features. "You can't just leave, we need to talk about this. This is serious."

Thomas was stopping him. No one in, no one out. Virgil felt his body spark anew with pain again as his wings tensed and strained with the rest of him.

~~He's gonna find you out.~~ ~~~~

~~He's gonna shun you again, expose you to the others.~~ ~~~~

Thomas, the damn empath he was at the moment, felt his panic. "Virgil--"

"Thomas, please," The desperation felt pathetic on his tongue. It felt wrong and he wanted to be angry but he just felt scared. His wings jerked, a soft cry of pain slipping off his tongue followed swiftly but an urgent call of his name.

"Virgil, take off your hoodie." He must have seen. He had to have seen them shifting. He was ignorant to think the movement of the wings beneath his clothes could go unnoticed forever, let alone in a situation like this one.

_Panic, panic, panic, pain,_ **_**fear** _ ** _\--_

~~He'll hate you more than he already does.~~ ~~~~

"Virgil, hoodie. Off."

Virgil's vision blurred with tears as he scrambled back towards the staircase. Higher ground, an advantage, something safe. Anything. He knows he can threaten Thomas. Threaten him with panic attacks and heightened anxiety, but he wasn't a monster--

~~You are~~ ~~~~

\--he wasn't.

Thomas stood but didn't approach, raising his hands to show he meant no harm. "Virgil, _please_ ," he begs, soft and scared all on his own. "I just want to help you. You're hurting and that hurts me."

"I'm sorry," the words slip out before he can even register them. He means it all the same.

"No, no, no. Not like that. I just don't like seeing you hurt. Please, I promise I won't hurt you. You know me, I would never." Thomas, noting that Virgil wasn't nearly as frightened, came forward. He stopped at the bottom step, sitting slowly as Virgil pressed himself against the railing of his usual platform.

~~Big, strong anxiety, reduced to a pathetic little creature. A vermin. You used to have some dignity.~~ ~~~~

"Okay."

~~Fool.~~ ~~~~

"Okay," Virgil straightened, huffing out a panicked gasp. "Back up a little?" Thomas complies quickly, scooting away across the carpet. With quaking fingers Virgil unzips his hoodie,

~~He'll hate them.~~ ~~~~

He fidgeted with the hem of his shirt before tugging it off, too, in one swift movement,

~~They'll hate you more, you and your ugly wings.~~ ~~~~

His wings unfurled, stretching out, joints popping. His muscles ached but relaxed as his wings regained the freedom to hold themselves up. The pain ebbed. His anxiety crashed through him in tidal waves, panic squeezed his lungs and encouraged his ribcage to shrink and suffocate him. Terror gripped his heart, unease squirmed in his stomach. Anticipation was lodged in his through, clogging his already restricted airways.

* * *

Thomas stared in complete shock. Wings. Virgil has wings. Giant, sleek wings. The back plumage was a gradient of gray, black, and purple from what Thomas could see, the down feathers a gentle cool gray that faded to a deep black that painted his coverts that switched just as neatly into a dark plum that colored his primaries and secondaries. The inner feathers, the ones Thomas could see the most of, wre the color of a stormy sky, some feathers darker than others but all a shimmering sort of Payne's gray nonetheless. They were dark and stormy but beautiful and soft. Very fitting for Virgil, Thomas thinks.

It took him a minute to overcome the shock and tune back into Virgil's emotions. He startled bodily as the wall of hurt, pain, and anxiety that slammed into him like a freight train. However, it was the resignation that buried a boulder in his stomach and made his eyes sting. Did Virgil really think that Thomas would reject him simply because of this? He knew Virgil was insecure, unsure of his place with Thomas and the other sides, or at least he'd assumed. Virgil was far different than what he had painted himself to be for all these years. He should have brought it up sooner, avoided this situation entirely.

"They're amazing." He breathed, truly enraptured by the extra limbs. He couldn't stop looking, they were attention grabbers, certainly, but they were also only partially extended and, once again, huge.

Shocked coursed through him but it wasn't his own. Disbelief followed and then suspicion settled. "What?" Virgil huffs, accusatory. His eyes narrowed, the make-up smeared beneath his eyes adding a threatening aura to him-- dark and feral.

"They're amazing, Virgil!" Thomas exclaimed, ignoring the facet's startled hiss. "They're so big." He gestured excitedly to the wings that seemed to engulf the stairwell like a shadow despite being only half-open, "And they look so _soft_." He cooed, "Is that why you're hurt?" He sombered, trying to keep from looking sad. When another wave of foreign guilt washed over him he knew he'd failed. "Why do you keep them trapped like that? It can't be healthy. It _clearly_ isn't." This time it was dread the hit him, and that horrible resignation.

"Thomas," Virgil sighed, shoulders slumping and wings drooping, feathers ruffling nervously behind him. "The others don’t have anything like these."

That wasn't what Thomas had expected. Maybe, _they're ugly_ or _they ruin the aesthetic_ but nothing that was essentially _I'm a freak_. "Why?" Virgil flinched. Thomas had meant to say "It's okay you don't have to hide," Oops.

"You know about the dark sides, right?" Virgil asked, meeting Thomas' identical gaze.

"Yeah," Thomas hummed, swallowing thickly. How could he not know? Logan had explained to him the concept of light sides and dark sides before, the horrible facets living in the lower recesses of his mind. Malice, jealousy, intrusive thoughts, _Deceit_. All the pieces of a person they wished they could get rid of, the parts of Thomas he was ashamed of because they were bad behaviors and ideas. He loathed to know those things were a part of him but he also knew he couldn't only be made up of cupcakes and rainbows and pretty colors. It was illogical and irrational to hope to be only made of sugar and spice, but just because he accepted it didn't mean that he was happy about it. He had to be balanced.

"Well," Virgil huffed, looking away. He fidgets, clearly wishing he had pockets to shove his hands into. You know how Deceit has his sucky snake face?" Thomas nods, Virgil glances at him out of the corner of his eye. "Well, Jealousy has horns, Malice has a tail, Remus has fucking tentacles…" he pauses, ducking his head, and sighs, "And I have these." The wings give a gentle flap, the stormy undersides shimmering.

"What..?" Thomas whispers, confused. It's not a hard concept to grasp, not by any means, but despite his initial impressions of Virgil he couldn't imagine the facet as a dark side. Not after getting to know him. After learning to adore him. Adamantly, Thomas refused, _no_. Virgil cared way too much to be a dark side, even if the facet had tried to hide it. Virgil wanted to protect Thomas from the horrors of the world, even the minor inconveniences, and even though the effect could be hindering Virgil _tried_. Thomas knew this. It was a fact. "You think you're a dark side."

Virgil grunted, sneering. Thomas felt his annoyance filter through him, anger and hurt bubbling beneath the surface. "I am a dark side," The winged-man snarled, "There is nothing else I can be. Every manifester's dark sides have a kind of quirk, animal features if the one your brain stuck you with." The anger multiplied, trying to drown out and bury the pain, the knowing betrayal. "No one else is like this, so don't deny it. Don't make me into something I'm not. I don't want to be liked as a lie." Virgil hissed through gritted teeth, chest slightly heaving after the small bout of rage.

"Virgil, you aren't bad." Thomas assured, stepping forward and ignoring how Virgil's wings anxiously fluttered. They were so expressive, each moment like a microexpression designed for Virgil's body language. "You could be a dark side, _could_ be, but that wouldn't even matter because you're you. I like you, Virgil, and I _know_ you want to keep me safe. That's not bad, or dark. You're a light side, whether you look like one or not."

The defensiveness in Virgil stuttered and went out, hope and hesitant thankfulness filling its spot and coming off Virgil in gentle ripples. "Really?" The facet huffed, going to disbelief but sounding painfully hopeful.

"Of course." Thomas replied without a moment of hesitation. Virgil's wings twitch and Thomas knew immediately just what the side needed. He opened his arms.

Virgil looked startled, gazing up at him through purple bangs, "You sure?" He murmured. Thomas nodded and smiled, waggling his eyebrows and reveling in the sound of Virgil's amused snort. It was but a moment before his arms were filled. Virgil's feathers, evidently, were as soft as they looked. They felt like kittens and worn stuffed animals, a soft blanket for rainy days and hot cocoa. They flapped gently, stretching and settling around them like a protective cocoon. It was dark and safe and so very Virgil. Thomas squeezed the side with all his might, closing his eyes as the anxious embodiment rested his forehead on Thomas' shoulder. It was nice, a moment filled with acceptance, reassurance, and hope.

"You know I love you, right?" Thomas spoke into the comfortable silence. Virgil just hummed, clinging tighter to Thomas and releasing a quiet, stuttering breath. "I'll prove it to you." He insists.

"You can't tell them." Virgil tenses, pushing back and looking at Thomas with wide eyes. "You _can't_." He stressed, urgent and afraid.

"Alright," Thomas concedes, worried and disagreeing, but he concedes all the same. "I won't, but you have to tell them eventually." Virgil huffed, looked away again, and drew back.

"I know." Virgil grabs his shirt and folded his wings against his back. Worry spiked in Thomas as the facet pulled the garment on before shrugging on his hoodie. Virgil quickly caught on, "It's okay. They're stretched and comfortable, they don't hurt." He shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets, "Besides, Pat is probably freaking out. So the others are probably freaking out. You should let them up."

Thomas startled, forgetting he'd essentially locked the others up in the mindscape, and quickly unlocked the imaginary doors that symbolized the entrance and exit to his mind. Immediately, just as Virgil predicted, the others stumbled into reality. They looked startled but relieved, an odd mix but a comforting sight. As Roman and Logan turned to Thomas, Patton turned to Virgil, rambling out apologies and wishes for Virgil to be alright. The dark facet looked uncomfortable but assured Patton he was okay with a minuscule upward tilt of his lips. Thomas could feel Virgil's hesitant contentment and nodded softly to Logan and Roman.

Virgil wasn't okay but he had people now, so maybe he'd get there.


End file.
